


Hiding in the Rain

by royalcatniss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dark Harry, Dark Magic, Hidden Talents, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Masks, Sane Tom Riddle, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:33:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28424793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royalcatniss/pseuds/royalcatniss
Summary: Harry Potter is overwhelmed by the expectations and stress of being the boy-who-lived. Sometimes, he just wants to run away from the wizarding world and take a break. A simple plea in front of the Room of Requirement changes his life for the better and Harry begins a careful balancing act of two identities: The Boy Who Lived and Harry... just Harry (although perhaps a bit more than intriguing than he would like). As Harry's rise in power become noticed by the one who ruined his life, anonymity becomes a tricky thing to maintain.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

Rain splatters against the sidewalk, the dark splotches brutally smeared across the concrete offer a sense of finality, a forceful and abrupt crash to a speeding drop. A crash you know is coming but is too late, irrevocable. Two legs swing over the bench parked outside a nearby salon. Harry could have changed his path, run around it instead. But why should he? He started running in a straight line, set on a destination. Why should any obstacle in his path not be conquered, pushed aside, _obliterated_ ? The clocktower in the distance reads 2 am. Harry knows he must be delirious, drenched and cold and just _tired_. This, he reasons, must be why such an absurd notion would cross his mind:

Tom Marvolo Riddle is the most infuriating bench he has ever stumbled upon. 

_1 hour earlier_

Harry Potter can’t handle the rising current of stress and desperation suffocating him right now. One more question, one more sneer, one more glance of pity from Hermione and he might just fall through the floor. He doesn’t know how far he’ll fall, but something tells him there won’t be an end. In that moment he may wish to be a raindrop, but he knows fate won’t let him. After all, he’s the _boy-who-lived_. But no one bothers to ask what he’s living for. To save the wizarding world from a certain immortal megalomaniac? To graduate with perfect NEWTS? To travel the world and escape from the pressures of the wizarding world? 

The public thinks it is the first one. Hermione wishes it was the second one. But what if it’s the third one? Would anyone truly let him go? Harry doesn’t know but he is willing to take a stab at it.

The seventh floor corridor comes into view, the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy lightly flapping from the breeze offered by the nearest window. Harry paces back and forth. Once. Twice. Three times. _I need to escape. I need to get away just for a couple hours. I need to LEAVE._ He says that final plea with desperation. A small brown door materializes in the opposite wall, no sign available to hint at what lies beyond. He takes a deep breath, grips the cold brass handle, pulls, and walks into the unknown.

An invisible rope tugs at his navel, a whirl of colors and he’s whisked away. Harry falls onto something hard. Gray pavement lined with loose pebbles and gravel. The fall isn’t completely smooth though. His leg brushes against something soft. Flesh. An arm. Another cry breaks out into the silent night. Harry slowly backs away towards the entrance of the narrow alley, but the other man registers the movement and leaps to his feet. Harry stumbles backwards and begins to run. Right. Left. Right. With a quick glance backwards, he is satisfied that no one is following him anymore. Stopping to catch a breath, he quickly pulls his cloak’s hood over his hood to cover his scar. In the back alleys of muggle London, Harry doesn’t expect to run into any other wizards but he decides to exercise caution anyway. 

After walking around aimlessly for several minutes it begins to rain. A light drizzle at first, but it soon picks up speed, slamming against the pavement. Harry wishes he could cast a water repelling charm or conjure an umbrella, but he somehow doesn’t think the Room of Requirement’s generosity will go as far as to remove the trace from his wand. So, Harry starts running again, letting the rain soak his clothes, slash through his hair. As the colors of the streetlamps and storefronts blur past him, he searches for the nearest café or bar. At the end of the block he finds his saving grace: _Bottle of Luck_ , the sign reads. With a smile on his face, Harry walks in because Merlin knows he needs just that. 

When Harry feels a yawn escape his mouth, he abruptly realizes that he doesn’t know how to get back to the castle. He blindly gropes at his pockets hoping for an answer. To his surprise, a small metal bird lands in his palm. Experimentally, he pokes at the new find, searching for the way out. When he taps both wings simultaneously a familiar tug and whirl of colors lands him back inside the room. Harry knows he should spend a few minutes trying to dry his hair and clothes, but he’s too tired to think and wants to get back to his bed in case someone notices he’s missing. Besides, who would be patrolling the hallways at three in the morning?

Throwing his hood back on, he quietly walks towards the Gryffindor common room. When his hand is almost pressed against the Fat Lady’s portrait, a hand clamps around his right shoulder. Harry may be tired and a bit out of sorts but he’s still a competent wizard, so he spins around and jabs his wand towards the offender. Dark onyx eyes bore into his, and Harry quickly looks away from the Master Occlumens. Snape may have already gleaned information from that brief glance, but Harry decides to hope anyway. But when the dreaded question leaves the Potion Master’s lips, he knows lying would be fruitless. 

_“Where have you been Mr. Potter?”_ He snaps out each word and ends the question with a murderous glare. Harry knows he can’t lie, so he goes for the simplest answer.

_“Out.”_

Snape begins to open his mouth again, most likely to fire out all those insults he’s been saving for this very moment. But then Harry glances back up at him and stares. Hard. He lets all the desperation and loneliness he had felt a few hours ago dredge their way back into his eyes. As he projects those emotions forwards, the professor briefly loosens his grip on Harry’s shoulder and takes a small startled step back. That brief faltering is enough of a distraction for Harry to wrench off the hand and continue sneaking through the portrait.

As Harry lies in his bed and closes his eyes, he dreams of rain and music and a little black bird flying away.

As the sun rises, in the depths of Malfoy Manor, another half blood wakes up with the scent of rain clinging to his nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


	2. An Invitation

Harry continues to go to the seventh floor corridor twice a week. These days, he casts a mild glamour charm on his hair, turning it a chestnut brown. He slips grey colored contacts into his eyes because his glasses have been knocked off too many times to count, and he doesn’t think wandering around London blindly will ever be a safe activity. 

The fourth time he arrives at the bar, he breathes in the familiar scents of hardwood flooring, gin, and fresh paint. The fifth time he walks through the entrance, a new, more subtle scent dances around him. Magic. Harry is willing to bet his entire Gringotts vault that the aura is more intoxicating than all the alcohol in the room.

At first, Harry ignores the new scent and makes his way towards his corner table. By now he’s a regular. Never drinking, but always watching, observing the commotion around him. Harry initially viewed the bar as his escape from the wizarding world. The muggles around him are so carefree, ignorant of the hidden current of power that sweeps around them. Harry considers what living here full-time would be like. He’s always thought he was good at solving mysteries, clues, _riddles_. Perhaps part time detective work is his new calling. In fact, cases would probably show up on his doorstep, what with trouble always following him wherever he goes.

But when that familiar scent wafts past his nose again, Harry knows he could never get away. The wizarding world may be a mess of bigoted laws and corrupt politicians but magic in its essence is exquisite, breathtaking, nonsensical and Harry _loves_ it. Restrictions can’t truly be placed on one’s ability to channel that inner desire, that shared calling. Magic is power. Magic is might. 

With that single statement of acknowledgement, somethings fundamentally shift inside Harry's core. A weight that Harry never noticed before is suddenly released from the depths of his consciousness. When Harry breathes again, he feels freer, lighter, and just _more_. Little does he know that the figure across the room is watching him and is shocked for the first time in years. 

That night, before leaving the bar to go back to Hogwarts, he looks up and locks eyes with the source that inspired his revelations. A pair of deep blue eyes stares back and somehow, Harry knows he is understood. 

When he gets back to the Room of Requirement he asks for books on masking one's magical aura because Harry Potter has just had a revelation, and he wants to keep that secret to himself. He doesn't know how long he will be able to hide, but this is a start.

Harry continues to go to the bar for the next few weeks. Two weeks before Christmas that familiar magical aura comes back. As Harry strolls towards his usual table, the scent gets stronger. A card rests against the surface. An extravagantly embellished M occupies its middle. He opens the card, and a small laugh bubbles up out of his mouth. 

  
  


_You are cordially invited to the Malfoy Yule Masquerade Gala on_

_December 31st._

_Formal wear required. Bring your own mask._

_Invitations will be inspected upon arrival._

No name is included in the address, so Harry assumes his identity has been successfully hidden thus far. Harry knows he probably shouldn’t go. In fact, it might be suicidal to go.

But Harry decides he might as well, because the feeling of joy he gets at the thought of crashing a Death Eater party without them knowing is too exhilarating to give up. Somewhere in the back of his head, a little voice tells the sorting hat that he can stuff his first house suggestion elsewhere. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is the first fic I've ever written. I've been burying myself in fanfiction throughout winter break and have especially come to like a Harry with a hidden identity/power, so I thought I would take a shot at it. Let me know what you think!
> 
> The first couple chapters are quite short, but I plan on making the upcoming chapters much longer (:


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